Gilver
by tenamanda1988
Summary: Oneshot based off the DMC novel. Tony aka Dante's thoughts on the mysterious Gilver. R


A one-shot based on the novel, I actually got it the first time I read the book, and after starting to re-read it yesterday I decided to finally try and write this sucker out.

This is basically an AU of the novel, as anyone knows the novel isn't considered canon what with DMC3. But I consider it a possible precursor to DMC3 if a few facts are changed. Like Dante's age, the fact that Vergil is supposedly already in Mundu's gasp and of course completely ignoring the ending with Trish etc.

For those who don't know the novel Tony is a false name Dante has been living under, and Gilver an anagram of Vergil. I suggest you read the novel, or at least the summary on Wikipedia for a better explanation. Just look on the DMC page and there is section about the novel.

Devil May Cry is (c) Capcom. happy reading! And remember, reviews feed the authors. We really do appreciate them :3

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Gilver was a hard man to figure.

He was cool, calm, collected and generous, yet callous and an unrepentant killer. Tony had watched him buy round after round for the mercenaries at Bobby's bar and win their favour, then in battle he had watched him slice man after man. Even those who surrendered and tried to run fell to the slim katana.

Then there was the obvious fact that he kept himself bandaged up tighter than King Tut's mummy. Any part of his body that wasn't covered by that ugly green suit was swathed in gauze making him oddly androgynous and even ageless. There were a ton of rumours going around as to why this was so, horribly mangled in a car accident, burned in a fire or perhaps just a born freak like the elephant man. This one was popular as it might be an explanation as to why he was so impossibly good, the same way the other mercenaries whispered that Tony's silver hair must also be a side effect of some mutation in his blood. Whatever the reason, it was clear that Gilver never intended for anyone to see his face.

Even during sex.

Tony knew it well enough.

The red clad mercenary was always proclaiming his love for women, that his bread was always strictly butter side up and he had no desire for anything that didn't have breasts. But somehow Gilver managed to fuck that one up. Fuck being the appropriate word.

Tony groaned, flinging his head back onto Gilver's shoulder as a particularly rough thrust disrupted him from the thought for a second.

One night, after the undoing of their target he'd found himself shoved against a wall, staring into those unnerving eyes (_I know them, I know them..._) and he'd lunged forward to roughly kiss where he supposed the suited man's mouth was. Which had been fine until he'd tried to attack with teeth too and had his head roughly yanked away, Gilver biting at his neck through that single slit in his mask. He guessed he'd been worried Tony might rip open some of his bandages.

It all went Gilver's way, Gilver's discretion, Gilver's rules. Every time.

Tony always complied because he was just so damned horny he couldn't summon the resolve to resist.

Even now as he was roughly groped, coat and shirt and pants gone, writhing on Gilver's lap with his back to the other mercenaries clothed chest in a sleazy motel room, he couldn't make sense of why he did it.

_I like girls, I do, I do._ A guttural cry as rough fingers stroked his arousal.

He could try to write it off as just lust but he knew it wasn't. It was something else, instinctive. A pull to some part of him that he was unfamiliar with. Yet the teenager knew he should know it somehow. Somehow it was always out of his reach, he groped for some kind of clue to unlock it and discover why.

_Why? Why do I feel so familiar, why do I feel like I've known him all my life?_

His blood was racing now in his ears, a thunderous roar drowning out why and reason as he bucked hard between Gilver's length inside him and the hand that stroked him. Fire rushing through his veins, chasing away any semblance of reasoning as hot liquid splashed across his toned stomach and coated his insides.

The he was released and allowed to roll off Gilver's lap to one side. His knees hitting the floor and his front resting on the bed for scant minutes until he summoned the energy to crawl onto the faded floral sheets and lie on his back, staring up at the water stained ceiling with its single, weak bulb and accompanying moth His sharp ears caught the sound of Gilver's zipper working as he tucked himself away again, not wasting a second in becoming the mummy man again.

Neither said a word, Tony staring up at the ceiling while Gilver... did whatever the fuck he was doing, Tony couldn't be bothered to look

Instead he fell asleep.

_He dreamt of fire and blood soaked golden hair, monstrous shadows in the night. The sound of a boys frightened cries and the despair that stole over his heart that he was alone. Alone, alone, alone._

_Mommy… V-_

He woke up. A steely hand roughly shaking his shoulder.

"Stoppit." he grumbled, blindly batting in the dark to make it go away and for the culprit to please, please not notice the moisture he now felt on his cheeks.

"You were having a nightmare." Gilver said coldly, ever the ice man. "Your thrashing woke me."

Tony turned onto his side, facing away from him. "Sorry, sorry. Won't happen again, g'night." he said, hurriedly rubbing his face against the sheets, it was obvious he was just trying to brush past it, not wanting to talk. Not that Gilver would care anyway, he wasn't a compassionate man. No time for one teenager's painful past.

There had been something, a name he was sure that if he'd just slept that little bit longer he would have known. It had been important, very important. Damned Gilver, waking him up. He could have suffered the dream for an answer but it had already faded.

He sighed as sleep stole over him again, when he sure by the regular sound of the bandaged mercenaries breathing that he was already out, "... Mom."

He could have sworn he heard a sharp intake of breath from behind him. As his consciousness faded, a hand stroking through his hair comfortingly. It couldn't be Gilver right? But there was the rough feel of uneven bandages in his silver hair.

Gilver was so Goddamn hard to figure.


End file.
